Trespass (10 page)

Chapter 21

T
J parked two aisles over from Gemma’s red Murano. Her curiosity had drawn her here to the casino, and she sat in the Mini watching for Gemma and mulled over the possibilities. Gemma hadn’t clued her in to why she wanted to see Taylor Harcourt, had only said it had nothing to do with Teschler.

Despite the claim, TJ remained curious. Her brief search of Taylor Harcourt revealed he was the son of Anthony Harcourt, head of Milwaukee’s most prestigious law firm, Harcourt and Harcourt. Taylor Harcourt, a partner in the law firm, was married. Gemma had never hinted about a relationship, but she wouldn’t be the first woman to take up with someone else’s husband.

TJ had her fingers on the door handle, ready to get out of the car, when she saw Gemma walk out of the casino entrance with Harcourt. Whatever had gone on between them, it hadn’t taken very long.

The photos of Harcourt she’d found online hadn’t done him justice. The guy was hot. Part of the attraction was the confidence he wore like a badge of honor, and it made him the kind of man who could have any woman he wanted. Was Gemma one of them?

They made an awesome couple. Gemma wore an outfit right off the cover of
Vogue
: an equestrian-cut, rust-colored suede skirt with high brown leather boots that emphasized her long legs and a tunic-length beige sweater belted at her hips, showcasing her generous bust. The wind tossed her luxurious hair, and her complexion was rosy, high with emotion.

Harcourt turned to Gemma when they reached her car. As Gemma opened the door and faced him, there couldn’t be any mistaking it—the way they looked at each other told the story from twenty yards away—they were lovers. He handed her something. A business card? TJ wasn’t close enough to be sure. He leaned in and gave Gemma a hasty kiss before turning and walking back to the casino. As soon as he disappeared inside, Gemma dropped her face into her hands. TJ could tell she was sobbing.

It was hard to speculate what had gone down between them—a breakup? Now she felt like a voyeur. It was time to get back to investigating the explosion.

There were still some of Norman’s neighbors TJ wanted to talk to, so she headed back to Wauwatosa. Two other deaths in the area, one as suspicious as Teschler’s, made it hard to ignore the possibility of a connection between them. Norman’s house explosion looked less like an accident and more like a murder.

Richard would be pissed; after she had JR, she had promised to do security work and stay away from anything remotely dangerous. But if she’d gotten herself involved in something ugly now, it hadn’t been intentional. When she accepted Gemma’s case and studied the facts, there had been little doubt in her mind the explosion was an accident. And JR had just turned one year old; it wasn’t like he was a baby anymore.

She stopped at home and added a shoulder holster and a Ruger .380 to her ensemble, well aware of the excitement she felt being back in the game. She would have to duke it out with Richard later.

Gemma’s neighborhood, shaded now by heavy clouds that dotted the early autumn sky, looked peaceful except for the blackened hole where Norman Teschler’s home once sat. It gave the neighborhood a sense of the surreal, a feeling of vulnerability.

She parked in front of Gemma’s next-door neighbors’ house, the home of Lucian Krause, the boy with cherubism who’d done yard work for Teschler. The trees had just started to turn; it wouldn’t be long before raking projects began in earnest. At the side of the house, a few willows, yellowed and dry, adorned the grass with a yellow blanket of the season’s castoffs. Lucian, his head swathed in a navy hoodie, worked at raking them into manageable piles. She walked over to talk to him.

“Lucian Krause?” she asked.

He kept raking. “Who wants to know?”

What was the kid’s problem? “My name’s TJ Peacock.” She held a business card in front of him. He grabbed it and stuffed it in a pocket of his jacket. “I know who you are,” he muttered. Obviously, it hadn’t taken long for the news of Gemma hiring her to spread through the neighborhood.

“If you got a minute, I’d like to ask a couple questions.”

He stopped raking and turned to her, his face nearly hidden by the material of his sweatshirt. She could see part of the oversized jaw, a puffy cheek, and felt sorry for the kid. It was hard enough to be a teenager these days without looking freaky.

“You used to help Norman Teschler out with his yard work, right?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes, yeah.”

“I heard you were working with him in his yard the day of the explosion.”

“Maybe. I don’t remember for sure.”

Was he hiding something or just being antisocial?

“Accordin’ to some of your neighbors, you were with him that afternoon, trimmin’ the shrubbery around the house. Does that poke your memory?”

“I guess.”

The kid was acting like a real pain in the ass. “Do you remember if Norman was upset about somethin’? Somethin’ botherin’ him?”

“He didn’t act any different.”

“Did you go into his house at all?”

A moment passed. TJ thought he wouldn’t answer.

“I went in to get a glass of water. That’s all.”

“An’ when you were in the house, did you notice anything unusual?” It was possible there had been a slow gas leak, but if the kid noticed it, he would have mentioned it to Teschler, since everyone knew he had no sense of smell.

He sneered. “Like did the house smell of gas?”

It had been a rather obvious question. “Did it?”

“No.”

TJ sensed there was something the kid wasn’t telling her. “Did he say anything about expecting a visitor that night?”

“No. I told you, nothing was different.”

They were interrupted when the side door opened and a woman TJ assumed was his mother approached them.

“Are you the investigator who’s asking everyone questions about Norman?” She turned a pair of beady, dull brown eyes on TJ, taking her in from head to toe. “We didn’t know him very well, but Lucian here helped him out around the yard from time to time, didn’t you Lucian?” She turned to her son, who had started to back away as soon as his mother joined them.

TJ called after him, “If you think of anything else, my number’s on that card I gave you.”

His back to them, he began stuffing leaves into black garbage bags. She turned to Mrs. Krause. TJ couldn’t remember her first name, but she had it in her computer notes somewhere. Started with an A. Ann? In case she hadn’t heard, TJ explained she was working for Teschler’s relatives. No need to mention Gemma.

“Mrs. Krause, did you see Mr. Teschler the day or evening of the explosion?” TJ asked.

Mrs. Krause wiped her hands on an old-fashioned apron she wore tied around her narrow body. It covered the kind of housedress women wore fifty years ago, well-washed cotton with a tiny floral print. “No, I was working that night. My shift started at eleven.”

“Where do you work?”

“I’m a nurse at the mental health center out at the medical complex. Have been for nearly twenty years now,” she said proudly.

“When was the last time you talked to Norman Teschler?”

Krause cupped her face in one hand, her eyes moving to the right as if to give the impression she was deep in thought. “I really can’t say. Maybe two weeks ago, or really it could have been longer than that. I don’t go out in the yard much. I’ve got my Lucian to do the yard work.”

Krause had lived across from Teschler for decades. You would think the woman would have more to say about the man. Once more, TJ had the feeling she was being shined on, and something in the woman’s attitude said Norman wasn’t her favorite person. Not surprising, if she was super religious and knew about Norman’s sexual proclivities. Or possibly she was sour because she hadn’t been one of them? TJ glanced at her notebook. “Is your daughter home, Mrs. Krause? I’d like to talk to her, too.”

“No,” Krause answered quickly. “She’s at her music lesson in the village; she’s studying classical guitar.”

Before TJ broke away, she handed Mrs. Krause a card with the same reminder to call her if she thought of anything out of the ordinary about Norman Teschler’s last days. Back in the car, she made a note to talk to Gemma again about the Krause family. Something here was definitely strange, but she had no idea if it had anything to do with the explosion.

The music store on the eastern edge of State Street had a parking area behind the building. She squeezed the Mini into the only tiny space left, wedged between an old Plymouth van and six-passenger SUV. TJ walked around to the front entrance and entered an open display area featuring a variety of guitars. Many were on display as collector’s items, but the selection available for purchase was vast. Business had to be good to support this kind of inventory. A young girl sat behind the counter, engaged in a computer screen. It looked like she was working on an eBay account. Figured. The only way for merchants to stay in the black these days was to supplement their store sales online, most often with Amazon or eBay.

TJ tapped the small bell on the desk.

When the girl turned around, TJ saw she had to be a minor, maybe sixteen or seventeen, if that. She had long, straight hair that ended in a few deliberate curls at the middle of her back and an adorable face spoiled by an angry sprinkling of acne. She wore a nametag that introduced her as Tabitha, and her face, round and innocent, smiled as she stood to greet TJ.

“Hi. Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m looking for Drucilla Krause. She’s having a lesson here.” An assumption only, but TJ didn’t think there could be more than one music store in downtown Tosa.

Tabitha paged through an appointment book. “Right, she’s with Kane. I can’t interrupt, but they’ll be done in about ten minutes if you’d like to wait.”

TJ perused the guitars, the books on music, and every kind of pick imaginable until she heard two people approaching from the back. Drucilla Krause looked nothing like her brother. She laughed at something said by a man with nearly waist-length hair that was pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.

“Dru,” Tabitha injected, “this lady is waiting for you.”

Drucilla gave TJ a flat-eyed glance and turned back to her instructor. “I’ll see you next week.” He walked over to the appointment book and stood studying it as intently as if it were a work of fiction.

TJ introduced herself and explained her purpose in talking to Dru. “I already talked to your mom and your brother. I just have a few questions for you.” It wasn’t difficult to deduce Kane wanted to eavesdrop; he still lingered at the appointment book.

“Could we go somewhere to talk? How about the coffee shop across the street?”

Drucilla’s eyes shifted to Kane. “Sure. I have to make another appointment. I’ll meet you over there in a minute.”

Clearly, the girl wanted TJ out of there. Maybe she had a crush on the guy and wanted a few last words with him. But she’d just been alone with him for what, an hour? She considered hanging around, but figured the pair wouldn’t do anything of interest in front of her.

TJ ordered a cup of coffee and a muffin while she waited for Drucilla Krause. The Krauses might really know nothing about Teschler’s explosion, but they acted like they had something to hide.

She stuffed the last crumbs of the muffin into her mouth as she finally saw the girl enter the coffee shop and look around. Taller than her brother by at least a few inches, Drucilla carried her weight in her hips, although she wasn’t overweight. Black hair with heavy bangs touched her shoulders over a muddy white T-shirt and dark jeans. She came over and took the chair across from TJ.

“What do you want to ask me?”

“I’m talkin’ to everybody who lives by Norman Teschler. Do you remember seeing or talkin’ to him the day of the explosion?”

“No. I mean I didn’t talk to him. I remember I saw him. He was working in the yard with Lucian; Lucian does chores for people in the neighborhood.”

Drucilla had been prepared for the question. TJ studied her, intending for the pause to make the girl nervous. She obviously was already, but why?

“So you’re takin’ guitar lessons?”

“Yeah, from my cousin Kane.”

A Krause relative. Funny that Anna Krause hadn’t mentioned that fact. “You play with a group?”

“No, I only play at our church services.”

“Did Mr. Teschler belong to your church?” TJ figured this question was a long shot, but wanted to swing the topic back to Norman.

“No. No one around here does.”

“Did you notice if he had any visitors that night? Any strange cars around?”

“Not that I saw.”

“Is there anyone else in the neighborhood I should talk to, someone who knows him well?”

“I don’t know.” She raised her eyes as if to ponder the question. “He’s pretty friendly with Mrs. Haynes.”

Haynes. The horny neighbor. TJ had her on a to-visit list—before cocktail hour. The Krauses knew something they weren’t telling her. Maybe she was asking the wrong questions, but now felt like the wrong time to push.

Chapter 22

H
oping that Westphal would have more to tell them about Sondra Jackson’s death, Detective Brian Haymaker got to the Medical Examiner’s office just before five p.m. Tasha, who was there when he got back to the station earlier, eagerly came with him.

Brian and Tasha had just started to don the standard paper gowns before entering the autopsy suite when Westphal rushed out and held out a hand, signaling there was no need to gown up.

He pulled his mask down to his neck. “I’ll save you the viewing. Nothing to see really. There is no mystery about the cause of death; Sondra Jackson died from strangulation. We got some scrapings from under her nails, so there should be some DNA for you when you find someone to match it with.” Westphal paused, screwing up his face as if fighting for just the right words.

“What about time of death?” Haymaker asked.

“Best I can estimate is sometime between one to three a.m. this morning.”

“What was she strangled with?”

“By hand. Someone with small-to-medium-sized hands, most likely right-handed.”

“Were there any signs of rape?” Fink had claimed he used a condom, but it was possible the intruder raped her. Or was it intruders? The guest room had looked like all the others they had investigated: a mussed, bodily-fluid-stained bed, no sign of robbery, and more than one intruder had been present. Whether the cum case overlapped the murder of Sondra Jackson is what they had to find out. The evidence sure pointed that way.

“That’s where things get interesting,” Westphal responded. “The victim had semen in the vaginal vault, but whoever deposited it there was a secretor. Your Mr. Fink, the one she had sex with, is not. That tells us she’d had sex within an hour of her death with someone other than Fink, who must have used a condom, as there were traces of lubricant present. We sent out a DNA sample from the seminal fluid we collected. And before you ask, there were no signs the act was not consensual.”

“What?” Brian noticed his partner’s mouth drop open at the revelation. What the hell happened in that house? Did Sondra Jackson know the people who were entering houses and having sex in other peoples’ beds, or did the swingers have a connection of some kind to the intruders in the cum case? Maybe they had leapt to the conclusion that there even were intruders, and the scene with Sondra had been planned by Craig Jackson without Fink’s knowledge.

“Isn’t it possible she just went along with it? Possibly at knife point?” Tasha asked.

Westphal pulled off his gown, exposing his short, hunched form. “Anything’s possible. But if I were asked on the witness stand if she’d been raped, I’d have to say there were no signs the act was forced.” He grinned, seemingly delighted at the look on the detectives’ faces. With his full lips and spaced teeth, it was no wonder people called him “the gnome” behind his back.

“It gets even more lascivious than that, Detectives. Assuming Mr. Fink told the truth about having sex with her, Mrs. Jackson had sex with
four
people the night she died—including Fink. There were bodily fluids on her mouth and other parts of her person from at least two men and two women. Must have been a real orgy.”